By Any Means

Hey folks, this is Kevin. On this week's episode of Risk, you'll hear Kona Morris. Kona, if you do this, you will end up on the streets as a crack whore. That and more.

But first, you know how much we love those little anecdotes that listeners like you send in. Have you got a surprising little story that comes in around 4 minutes? Specially if it might go well on our Scary Stories episode around Halloween time or on our Holiday Stories episode in December? Just go to risk-show.com anecdotes to find out how to pitch it.

And hey, I just want to quickly thank Keith Wall, Catherine, Matthew Carao and Olivia Mills, all of whom have recently joined our patreon at the $25 or more level. You guys know how important it is now more than ever for our fans to come to our res, help keep Risk running during this really tough period until we can get back on our feet later this year. We appreciate all of you who have done so so far, but for right now, Keith, Catherine, Matthew, Olivia, thank you. We'll be right back.

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Hello kids. This is Risk, the show where people tell true stories they never thought they'd dare to share. I'm Kevin Allison and this is Von on behind me now with a very Vietnamese version of Ghost Riders in the Sky. We're calling this week's episode by any means because we have two storytellers who were dead set taking a risk no matter the outcome.

Hey, if you haven't heard, my sketch comedy group the State is reuniting one night only at the Paramount Theater in Denver, Colorado. That's August 30th. The state will be performing both classic sketches and new material too. So go to the-state.com for tickets.

That's the-state.com. now in a little bit, we're here from Kona Morris, a story she told at our LA show last February. But first, something really unusual. This is a story by Randall C.

Via, also known as Red Onion Randy, who is an inmate at Wallens Ridge State Prison, a supermax facility in Virginia where he's serving the 1214 years without parole for capital murder. Randy has been incarcerated for most of his life since he was 11 years old and has spent 18 years of that time in solitary confinement. Now this story first aired on a podcast called Red Onion Randy that features stories told by Randy from prison over the phone. Randy experienced a great deal of abuse and neglect as a young child and then entered the system at a very young age.

And he begins this story in a juvenile detention facility which he described as basically just housing for troubled kids that the system had nowhere else to put. So without further ado, here is Red Onion Randy with a story we call the Cat and the Convict. I had gotten out of Beaulance the first time, which if I remember correctly was the year 1996. And I was in the attention home in Charlottesville, Virginia for my second time.

I had been previously when I was 11 years old. So there was this girl named Mary. Now Mary was pretty. I mean, she had a pretty face on her, but my God, the body on that woman.

Well, actually she was a girl at the time because she was a teenager. Puts supermodels, bikini models, porn stars to shame. Unbelievable. I am not exaggerating in the slightest.

So I had flirted with her a little bit, but nothing really serious, nothing, you know, major whatnot. One night I was in a little game room and I was shooting pool and her and her roommate Agnes came in and Mary pulled up on me and was like hey, look, me and Agnes, we want to leave. We want you to come with us. I'm like, no, that ain't gonna happen.

I only got a couple of months left before I get to go home, and I'm done with all this stuff. I'm putting all this stuff behind me. She was like, oh, come on, please. You know, I'll let you do stuff to me, blah, blah, blah.

I'm like, yeah, I'm good. I ain't doing it. No, I'm not leaving. I'm in a good place.

I'm in a good position. It ain't happening. So she lifted her shirt up, and she had 36 double Ds. And after a mouthful of kids, I'm mumbling, all right, pack your stuff.

Let's go. I mean, it just is what it is. So she pulls her shirt down, and they leave. And I go upstairs and I pack a bag with some clothes and whatnot, and I tell my roommate, yo, look, dude, stop out of here.

Take whatever you want, man. It's yours. I ain't coming back. So I walk downstairs, and I walk down the front, and I see the counselor sitting in the office with the door open.

And they look up at me. They see I got a bag full of clothes on. I go to, what you doing? I'm like, wait a minute.

You got two hours before you're allowed to call the cops. Don't kick me for my time. And I just walked out, and I walk down the little driveway up through the. There's, like, a little small kidi walkway alleyway between this brick wall and his house.

And that's where Mary and Agnes were. They had their stuff. And I'm like, ah, yo, look, let's go. So it's spark outside.

And we walk, we go down a couple of blocks, and we come to this graveyard. And so, you know, we stop there, pause and talk a little bit. You know, I start making out with Mary, and, you know, I have her laid on the ground. I'm on top of her.

I'm grinding on her, kissing her and everything. And, you know, things are going well for me. And, you know, all of a sudden, we see flashlights, and we look up and we see a couple of cops standing up at the top of the hill, where. It's a very small hill, by the way.

You know, when the driveway to the graveyard, the walls and everything is. And so we grab our stuff and we take off running in opposite directions. So as we're running, we get a couple blocks away. I start looking in cars for keys.

Because you would be surprised at how many stupid people will actually leave the keys in the ignition of their vehicle while they're in the house. So we jumped in a Chevy pickup truck, and it had a camper shell on the back. It was just, you know, a single bench seat. You know, old school pickup truck, probably from the late 70s, maybe early 80s.

Keys are in ignition. So we pile in, door clothes in the back, and I start the truck up, we take off, we travel up to my uncle Jonathan's, which is in Scottish Virginia, and he's got a trailer there. So, you know, we pulled in every day and we go in and we started talking. We drank a couple of beers and what?

I'm over there talking to Jonathan while the girls are in the living room while watching TV and talking. So I'm like, hey, John, you know, look, man, let me stay here for tonight. You know, I'm trying to hit that, you know, I'm just gonna give you that. And he's like, nah, man, I can't let you stay, dude.

My dad would be mad and upset. I'm like, wait a minute, dude, get my step grandfather. I mean, seriously, I mean, look, I can't let you stay here, man. That's just.

That's just all there is. I'm like, all right, well, screw you then, dude. I get up, like, come on, girls, let's go. So we go, we get into the truck and I pull off and we drop down the road, we drive up this other road, down this back road, down this dirt road, and then we go up, drive up side of a mountain, and there's this little flat spot right there.

We can just kind of pull off. You know, we're deep in the country. You know, these are the Blue Ridge mountains, you know, kind of foothills and whatnot where I'm at. And so we park there.

I'm like, look, you know, he wouldn't let us stay, so we just want to crash here. So Agnes, she's in the passenger seat, Mary's in the middle, and I'm driving. So Agnes just rolls up a coat and she leans it up against the door and use it at the pillow, you know, to go to sleep. Me and Mary, we get out the truck and we go around and climb in the back.

And our feet are pointing towards the hood of the pickup truck. And, you know, our heads are at the back near the tailgate, you know, so I'm doing my thing. I'm kissing on her, I'm fondling on her, you know, I get her Undressed. And I get undressed.

You know, I'm a. I'm a teenage boy, so I'm pretty brick at this point, and I go and I ease up on him. And I get right on the threshold. Flesh against sweet, sweet flesh.

And I'm about to cross that threshold. The moment every young boy dreams of. About to become a man. And she screams.

And I'm like, hey, baby, I ain't hurt you, did I? She said, oh, no, not that. Not dead at all. She says, look.

Turn around and look. So I turn around and look through the damn front windshield. Standing on the hood of the damn pickup truck and shaft of moonlight is the biggest bobcat I've never laid eyes away in my life. I am not exaggerating.

That son of a was the size of a mountain lion. I mean, he was just looking right at us. His eyes were shining and glowing like cat's eyes do at night in the moonlight. I mean, he was zero head on it.

Like he knew I was up to no damn good. So I turn around, I'm like, okay, yeah, let me. Let's go ahead and finish what we started. She said, oh, we can't do that.

I'm like, well, no, you can't get to us. She says, no, I'm scared. I'm like, oh, baby, please, come on. I'm right there.

He says, no, get off me. And of course, being the gentleman that I am, I of course be all. So I ain't never going to force myself on any woman. She's so scared.

We can't even get out the back of the truck to go around and get into the front of the truck. We had to climb through that little bitty teeny window in the back window because it had one of those little sliding windows. And of course, we couldn't stay there. She wakes up Agnes and tells her all about it, and I'm driving away and everything.

And of course the damn truck runs out of gas. And we get called by the cops and we go to detention home, and I get sent right back up to Beaumont, and I do not lose my virginity thanks to a damn bobcat. He can't mind his own business. And I have hated bobcats with passion ever since.

Especially that big bastard right there. Watch me, pussycat. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Watch.

New pussycat. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Pussycat, pussycat, you're so willing and I'm so willing to care for you. So go and pick up your big little pussycat eyes.

You and your pussycat. No, baby. Yeah, yeah. This is.

This is Better than I ever imagined. You're so gorgeous. Do you want to go all the way? Yes.

All right. Yeah, baby. You dudes, I'm sending a vanish sample. Get the fuck out of here.

Okay, okay. I'm going. I'm out of here. We'll be right back.

I'm Josh. And I'm Nicole and Ian. We're responsible for all the strange stages on Internet. Most watch Daily Show, Good mythical morning for Frightened Link and our YouTube channel, Mythical Kitchen.

Between the two of us, we've worked almost every weird job the food industry has to offer, and we've developed some pretty strong opinions. The strongest opinions, Nicole. Opinions so strong they need to be heard on easily consumable auditory medium. Does pineapple belong on pizza or boneless wings?

Just poser nuggets. It's cereal soup. Follow and listen to hot dogs and sandwich free on the Odyssey app and everywhere you get your podcast. We're back.

This is Risk. And just for the hell of it, here's another version of Ghost Riders in the Sky, a Mexican one, this time by Los Babies. But before the break, we heard a bit of Tom Jones singing about his pussycat. And then our editor, Taj Easton getting frisky with a friend of his.

And then, unsurprisingly, Bobcat Goldthwaite. And before that, Randall C. Via, who you can find on Twitter and Instagram. Red Onion, Randy.

And you can find us on Twitter and Instagram. Riskshow. We're also riskshow on TikTok and Facebook. And when you find us in any of those places us, tag us in your tweets or your TikToks or your whatevers.

Let us know what you think of Risk or what you think of a particular story. We always love it. And send me recordings telling me what you think of [email protected] we love that, too. And we also love Christina Bastinfar, Juliana Weisgarber and Monique.

Ian Marino, who also joined our patreon at the $25 or more level. Thank you so much, ladies. Are helping to keep Risk running. Now, next up is a story from a recent Risk live show in la.

We just moved venues out there. We're now at the Lyric Hyperion, and our host in la, David Crabb, says it is a lovely new home for us. So go to riskcashow.com live to get tickets for our August 15th show there. And now, here is Kona Morris out there in LA with a story we call Danced Her Did.

Hello. Hello. I grew up in a small town in the backwoods of Northern California in a real shitty neighborhood that was perfectly situated between the projects and the trailer park. And I was always daydreaming about opportunities that my welfare stricken, drama mongering parents could never give me.

When I was 15, I bought my first car. And as soon as I had my license, I started road tripping around the country. The summer after my junior year of high school, I went to Boston where I rented the back balcony. Yes, balcony of an apartment in Cambridge where a bunch of Harvard students were living for the summer for $50 a month.

It was just big enough for my sleeping bag and backpack. And I fell in love with that city. I had sushi and Indian food for the first time. I rode the subway.

I went to all these concerts and plays. I got a fake ID and my first tattoo. And that summer I learned two things. One, I was ready to be out on my own.

And two, weed on the east coast was utter shite. Yeah. Growing up in Humboldt County, I hadn't realized how spoiled I was. Not only was it some of the best on the planet, but because of my degenerate hippie father, I never even had to pay for it.

And I also found out that rich Harvard kids had no problem spending $100 an eighth. That's right. Which I happily sold them to help fund my summer travels. So before I had to leave to go back for my senior year, I went on this mission to find the childhood home of one of my literary heroes, E.E.

cummings. Which was not so easy to do in the days before Google Maps, but I found it. And I was sitting there writing love poems to the giant tree in his front yard. And a neighbor walked by and said that Cummings had went to one of the oldest high schools in the country, which was just a few blocks away.

So I walked over and was just instantly enchanted by this beautiful historic campus which basically borders Harvard Yard. I wandered inside and asked how one might go about enrolling. They gave me a packet that included the district map, instructions for submitting transcripts, and a course catalog which I flipped through and just drooled over. These classes, they offered things we could never even imagine in my small town high school, like Chinese and playwriting, AP European history.

Freaking syllogism. Insane. Yeah, right? So I start fantasizing about transferring there, but moving across country by myself at 17 seemed impossible.

So I went back to California. On the first day of my senior year of high school, I sat in class with this lump in my throat, just feeling like I had regressed backwards in time. Here, you know, I had already moved out and embraced this exciting new life. And here I was, back in my shitty high school where I had already taken all the classes I wanted and most of my friends had already graduated.

So I pulled out the packet from E.E. cummings High School, and I saw that it didn't start for another two weeks. So I started considering all the logistics involved. And is it at all possible for me to pull this off?

I had no idea. But I knew that I wanted to so damn much. And I also knew that if I didn't, I'd have to just live with this fucking regret forever. So I forced myself to stand up and walk out of class and go to the office and ask for a copy of my official transcript.

Only they were not very supportive of my plan. My guidance counselor sat me down and said, kona, if you do this, you will end up on the streets as a crack whore. I remember just being stunned by that. Like, did he really just use that fucking word?

Oh, my God. And then I was so pissed. Like, where does this man get off thinking he knows anything about what I was capable of? Not only was I an honor student, but I had been class president, God damn it.

Right? So. And it's not like I didn't care about school. That was the biggest reason I wanted to do it.

I wanted to take those amazing classes, have access to all the prestige of Harvard. But he didn't hear any of that. No, he just tried to scare me with how certain he was that I would go fuck up the rest of my life. And it was terrifying.

Of course, it was the biggest decision I had ever even considered, but it was also exhilarating. And I just kept thinking that all of those opportunities was worth the risk. So I made him give me my transcript. Before I left town, I went around and collected all the weed and mushrooms I could find, knowing that I could always sell it to the Harvard students to live off of until I found a job, and I packed up and I drove back to Boston.

But funny that it didn't even occur to me to worry about transporting drugs across the country. And for the record, I did not consider myself a drug dealer. I was just selling a little overpriced weed to Harvard students, that's all. And it's not like I had a scale or anything.

I just used my finger system, that's all. So my roommates from the summer had invited me to crash at their dorm house, which was the address that I gave my high school. And at first, I just stayed in their room, sleeping on the floors Until I discovered this barely used common room on the top floor where I spread out and made myself very comfortable. And I also discovered the back door into the dining hall where I had access to an unlimited supply of my childhood dream cereal, which we could never get with food stamps.

F cking Lucky Charms, baby. And I got in all the classes I wanted at my high school. I started sneaking into world renowned lectures at Harvard. Shakespeare with Marjorie Garber, Anthropology and Linguistics with Urban Devore.

I got a job at the coffee shop across the street. And on days that I wasn't working, I hung around the Harvard primatology lab where I befriended the professor and helped out with experiments on cottontop tamens. And I was fucking doing it. Living this incredible new life, getting this phenomenal education.

And everything was going swimmingly for about six weeks until I was sitting in my AP lit class, ready to talk shit on the latest Jane Austen book I was being forced to read. When my teacher handed me a note saying to report to the office, terror erupted in my stomach. Up until that point, I had been flying perfectly under the radar. But now I had been noticed.

I was so nervous that instead of going to the office, I just kept walking right off campus and straight over to my favorite hideout at E. Cummings House, hoping that whatever it was would just fall through the cracks and be forgotten. It was not. The next morning, another note came, this time with an escort to walk me back to the office.

I was shaking with fear when I walked in and saw the office lady standing there waiting for me. She said Kana Maris. Which was close enough for Baston. She told me there was something wrong with my paperwork because the address I had given her was for a Havid Dharmatari.

At that time, I thought that the only thing that ever mattered was confidence. So I just smiled and said, yep, that's right. And I even invited her to come by after to check out my sweet setup. But she was not having it.

Oh no. She demanded to know where my parents were. So I decided to ask a hypothetical question. Well, what happens if a student is homeless?

Now, in retrospect, I definitely was. But at the time, I didn't consider myself that way. I was just using it as a word to try to gain some sympathy from her. In my mind, homeless was some dissolute state on the sidewalk, not a cozy couch with all the free cereal I could eat.

So I leaned in and I said, don't homeless kids have a right to finish high school? And then in a stroke of pure con artist genius, I said, are you Trying to stop me from being able to go to college. That made her pause and say, oh, it's not me, Dia. It's the law.

And I need proof that you're either emancipated or living with a legal guardian or you cannot attend this school. Realizing she was not going to budge, I asked when she needed to buy. She said immediately, but I talked her into giving me a couple weeks until the end of the first quarter. I walked outside and all of the fear in the universe just crashed down on top of me.

I had no fucking clue what I was going to do here. I thought I had it all figured out and this one stupid mistake could just take everything away. Why did I give them that address? Fucking shit.

Fuck. This was serious. I could be kicked out of school and then what? Be a high school dropout?

Or have to crawl back to my guidance counselor and tell him he'd been right? And was he? Was this the first step to becoming a crack whore? And I knew I couldn't emancipate without having to go back to California.

And that was a long legal process that I did not have time for. So I just started frantically telling everyone I knew that I needed a house and a legal guardian or I was about to be kicked out of school. I heard from a friend that the professor who ran the lab was about to go to Africa on a research trip for a few months and that his new grad student, Corey, was going to be house and dog sitting. So I went and talked to Corey and just asked him if he'd mind if maybe I stayed there just a little bit so that I can use the address.

He said that would be fine with him, but only if I got permission from the professor. And I had to make sure to do that soon because he was about to leave. It was my best and only option. So I walked down to the professor's office, just trying to think of any way that I could possibly convince him.

I walk inside and just start rambling about how much I loved his golden retriever and how I was really hoping that I might be able to help Cory in Walker while he was gone. But he had already caught wind of my situation. He said, yeah, I overheard someone saying that you're sleeping on couches at Mather House. Is that right?

So I said yes. And after just this long contemplative look at me, he asked if I would do him a favor and stay at his house while he was gone to help out Corey. Oh, would I? A few days later, I move into this Gorgeous house that is just right down the street from my high school.

And one of my problems was solved, but there was still the issue of the legal guardian. So I did some research and I found out that anyone over the age of 18 could take on that role. And Corey, the grad student, and I got along pretty well. So I decided to ask him.

I made us a very nice dinner and I was just like, so would you possibly be willing to be my legal guardian just for like five months until I turn 18? And I promised that he wouldn't have to do anything at all. It was only on paper. That was it.

So he just shrugged and went, sure, I guess just close enough for me. So, you know, then I have to start thinking of how to make that happen. I knew a friend of mine at Harvard had this shady lawyer father who sometimes helps people get out of tricky legal situations. So I asked him to set up a phone call.

The lawyer told me that my best option was a notary public. And he knew just the one. There was a woman who might be willing to exchange her services for some good Humboldt Bud and mushrooms, and he would ask her and get back to me soon. So after a couple of very stressful days, I get this call that it's all set up, but only if I can show up to her house in New Hampshire that Sunday night.

And it was a long drive across state lines and I had to beg Corey to come with me, but we went and we show up to her house. It's late in the evening and she opens the door with a finger over her lips and then ushers us past this living room full of kids that are eating pizza and watching tv. We follow her up this narrow staircase into a tiny crafting room which is lined with fabrics, where she slides her sewing machine over and pulls out an old embossing seal and asked me to show her what I brought for her. So after smelling and squeezing everything, she looks at me and goes, okay.

And then she proceeded to let me forge my mother's signature on a document which she then stamped to officially bestow legal guardianship to my 22 year old roommate. The next morning, I brought my notarized form into the office and held my breath while the office lady looked over, just thinking, I'm going to be so fucked if it doesn't work. Just so fucked. Please work, please work, please work.

She finally looks up and says, well, everything appears to be in order. But to make sure that I was really staying there because somebody might be coming by to check on me, I walked out in total disbelief. I couldn't believe it. But the anxiety didn't go away.

Even after Corey and I got our own apartments and I turned 18, I was still so nervous that they might figure out what I'd done and kick me out of school. It wasn't until I had the diploma in my hand that I knew I had actually gotten away with it. The diploma from E.E. cummings High School that I conned my way into as a homeless drug slinging teenager.

But at least I never became a crack whore. You shall above all things be glad and young. For if you're young, whatever life you wear, it will become you and if you are glad, whatever's living will yourself become girl boys may nothing more than boy girls need I can entirely her only love whose any mystery makes every man's flesh put space on and his mind take off time. That you should ever think May God forbid, and in his mercy your true lover spare for that way knowledge lies the fetal grave called progress and negation's dead undoom.

I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach 10,000 stars how not to dance. This is Risk. This is Thievery Corporation behind me now. And we just heard a story by Kona Morris, followed by Kona herself reciting E.E.

cummings poem, you shall above all things be glad and Young set music by Glenn Kochi featuring Kronos Quartet. And you can find Kona on her [email protected] Folks, if you listen to Risk on Stitcher, now is the time to switch to a different platform. Stitcher is going away, but Risk is not. We're a little nervous because we know a lot of our listeners get the show through Stitcher, but they're going away.

So you should subscribe to Risk on Apple Podcast or Google Podcast or Spotify, our personal favorite. The place that we listen to the show is on the Audysee app that's a U, D, A C, Y. Or of course there's our [email protected], but one place you won't find Risk anymore is Stitcher, because Stitcher is going away. So make sure to subscribe to Risk anywhere else now.

And I still want to thank Joe Stern, Cassandra Spence, Paige Gardner, and Laura Zuck, four more folks who also recently joined us at Patreon. It's great to be announcing more folks for that this week, and we need even more. Meanwhile, over at Patreon, we have a new story by the one and only Jerry Pratt, and it sounds a little bit like this. I come in and give Bill a kiss on the head and he says, they're trying to kill me.

They're trying to kill me. And I say, oh no, honey, no one's trying to kill you. He scowls at me and says, you're in on it too. You're trying to kill me.

I climb on the bed and wrap my arms around him. I say, oh no, honey, no one is trying to kill you. It's just your body. Your body's trying to let go.

And there's so much more to be [email protected] risk we need as many of you as possible to be helping us get through this financial squeeze we're in this summer. Even if you're already a member at Patreon, you can up the amount of your donation. That would help too. If you want to make a one time donation, you can do that at paypal, dot me, riskshow and some folks just email me at kevinrisk-show.com for their own way of donating.

Like this week, one of Risk's biggest fans, Sherry Pessell, emailed me and said, kevin, I was listening to this week's Risk and somehow it switched over to my music and started playing if I Loved you'd from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Carousel, which made me wish it was you singing it. So I would pay you $250 if you sing if I loved you'd to me. But you don't have to sing the whole song. Well, tell you what, you bet your ass I'll do that.

Sherry Hit it. Karaoke version from YouTube if I loved you Sherry Pissell Time and again I would try to say All I want you to know if I loved you Sherry Words wouldn't come in an easy way round in circles I'd go longing to tell you but afraid and shy I'd let my golden chances pass me by soon you'd leave me, you would go in the midst of day Sherry Never, never to know How I loved you if I loved you. And all you need to know about me is that I didn't have to look up the lyrics or rehearse that. That was just clicking play and going from memory.

That and the fact that even as I was being completely ridiculously silly while singing it, I managed to also get emotional as well because of my own romantic year that I've had. I was like, okay, don't start crying while acting like a lunatic. Anyway, the point is, folks, please send us money. Even if you want us to do kinky like that.

You can always reach me at [email protected]. we'll be right back. We are back, folks. Sometimes on Thursdays we're gonna be running episodes we call funny stuff.

You know, all time classic funny stories where you know you can share these episodes with friends as just lighthearted stuff. We're gonna revisit 80 miles. I'm talking about quarts of diarrhea filled my shorts and TS Madison. He took a good dick out of this world.

And if you recognize those clips, you know you're in for a good time. But that's Thursday and folks, today's the day. Take a risk. Anyone lived in a pretty howl town with up so floating any bells down Spring, summer, autumn, winter he sang his din't he danced his did Women and men both little and small Cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun, moon, stars reign Children guessed but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew Autumn, winter, spring, summer that no one loved him more by more.

When thy now and tree thy leaf she laughed his joy, she cried his grief Bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her Someones married their everyones Laughed their crimes and did their dance Sleep wake hope and then they set their nerves they slept their dream Stars, rain, sun, moon and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down One day anyone died, I guess and no one stooped to kiss his face. Busy folk buried them side by side, Little by little and was if I was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep no one and anyone if by April wish by spirit and if by yes Women and men both dawn and ding Summer, autumn, winter, spring Reaped their sowing and went their tame sun, moon, stars, rain.